Four Plus One
by Kimauri
Summary: Formerly "Four Happy Endings That Never Were". A series of 5 part oneshots, featuring characters from the Lorax. Currently open to prompts.
1. Four Happy Endings That Never Were

**Four Happy Endings That Never Were and One That Actually Was**

**01. I've Never Had a Friend Before**

"And this is my friend, the Lorax—"

Here the Once-ler pauses, not quite sure which he's waiting for: the Lorax to speak up and say _Hey! I'm not your friend, kid!_ or his own mouth to hurriedly correct himself—cause he's never had a friend before.

Neither events happen, and the Once-ler continues on, ignoring the strange tingling in his gut and the urge he has to smile. The Lorax just huffs and folds his arms across his chest in typical Lorax fashion before looking at the Once-ler's family and beginning his tiraid that they listen even less to.

Finally he offers words of wisdom he thinks no one will even care for anyway.

The Once-ler leaves with thoughts to think upon.

His mother comes, all smiles, as trustworthy as a grinning cat with one paw on a mouse.

"Oncie, baby, have you considered chopping down these trees?" she simpers, already devoted to her role of neglected mother.

Has he? He thinks of a promise he made to a friend—his _first_ friend.

_I swear I won't chop down anymore trees_.

He's never had a friend to let down before.

He won't start now.

"I'll think of something, Mom."

**02. A Simple Life**

The stink of tomato juice clings to him as the Once-ler walks off stage. He tosses his thneed into a garbage bin as he passes, and there it lies until the garbage man comes and takes it away, where it will join other unwanted things in a large heap, never to be discovered.

"Hey, kid, how'd it go?" the Lorax calls, and the Once-ler lets it go: his thneed, his dreams, his everything. So what if his family was right? He'll… live with that. There's really no other choice, is there?

"Not so hot. Turns out my invention is ahead of its time."

"Hmm. Too bad. Want me to deal you in?"

No reason to leave, is there?

Late that night, the Once-ler sits at his kitchen table, surrounded by a few dozen forest creatures he has thus far fed, entertained, and even let _sleep_ in his home and his bed.

Nothing to be done if none what his thneed. He could go. Travel the world, create something new.

But… Does he want to? He could stay. Regardless of his thneed, there's enough around here to build a life. He looks around his crowded house, a small smile growing.

Maybe…

**03. Easy-Going**

The Once-ler and the Lorax look at the piles of request forms from that afternoon with mixed expressions: awe for one, horror for another. As the Once-ler sorts them accordingly, an expression of unmittigated glee spread across his face, the Lorax wracks his brain for something to say.

"So… How're you gonna meet these orders, beanpole? This family o'yers—s'gonna take them a week to get here, right? What then? Gonna start choppin' down trees—gonna break promises?"

The Once-ler looks up. "What? Oh. No. See, I gotta a plan." From the back table, the kid reveals a strange device, explaining it's a "truffula tree tuft plucker". The Lorax just has to take his word on that.

He shakes his head. "And what then? Gonna teach your family how to knit—"

"Oh, no, my family can't _knit_. I'm gonna build a factory—"

"A _what_?" The Lorax scrambles to the kid, taking advantage of the fact that, for once, they are eye-to-eye: the Lorax standing, the kid sitting on the floor surrounded by pages. "Kid, you _can't_—"

"Why_ not?"_

He's dense to his effect on others. The Lorax sighs.

"…Homemade sells higher."

He's finally speaking the Once-ler's language.

**04. The Last Truffula Tree**

When words have failed the Lorax, he ceases to speak and jumps upon the Once-ler's shoulders and turns his head upon the forest he hasn't fully looked at in ages. For one terrible moment, the Once-ler says nothing, dazed eyes staring at the gray world around him; the last thing he remembers is _technocolor_, of which nothing remains.

Except one lone tree.

They can see the chopper trolling towards it, puffing smoke and pulling its way uphill—the sad little engine that _could_, that _shouldn't_, and then the Once-ler is gone: tearing out of his office like a man possessed, shouting orders to his secretaries and assistants, "_For the love of the Maker, STOP THAT MACHINE!"_

The chopper stops, only feet away from the last truffula tree. The factory shuts down, the business closes. The workers and his family leave. The Once-ler hardly notices. He stands before the tree like a judge, surrounded by sick, tired, _hungry_ forest creatures, a million stumps like gravemarkers.

What little money he has left goes to the land. He feeds the creatures, cultivates the tree. The fruit it bares is shiveled, but has seeds. They grow the same.

The Lorax is there to help.

**05. Old Men**

"Ya did good, beanpole."

The Once-ler hugs the old creature tightly. He has so much he wants to ask: where did he go, what did he do, is he hungry? He'd gladly cook twentieths for this creature if he so asked.

He points instead to the hundreds of little shoots sprouting from the ground, leading the Lorax through the beginnings of a fresh new forest.

"It's the factories," he explains, gesturing to the many dozen sprouts. "With them shut down, the air cleared and rain fell for the first time in decades. These must've been buried—they sprang up with the first drop!"

The Lorax nods. "Good old barbaloots. They bury the seeds they don't eat. These must've been in the ground for decades, just waiting to grow."

"It's thanks to Ted—this… remarkable boy. He came and sought change. It's thanks to him the factories shut down."

It's only been a year. The Once-ler isn't sure he can believe it. _This_, all of this, done in a year because of a boy and a few bears doing as bears do years ago.

"I'm so sorry," the Once-ler says. He wants to say more.

"Kid, forget about it."

_You're forgiven_.

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><p>I dunno. <em>I<em> liked them. Good? Y/N?


	2. Four People Who Came to the Lurkum

**A/N: **I'm starting to feel like one of those people who spams Fanfiction with, like, a thousand stories no one else writes for, so I'm going to start adding all of my 4 and 1 oneshots under this title, okay? It'll just keep the site looking cleaner and no one will really need to wade through mine to get to someone else's.

This one is sort of dedicated to randomfics, who gave me the prompt "make the stories longer" ;) I... sorta did? At least this is connected this time, right?

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><p><strong>Four People Who Came to the Lurkum and One Who Stayed to Listen<strong>

**01. The First Man**

A day. One day since the Lorax was Lifted, since the barbaloots left, since _Melvin_ left, and somehow, that last one hurts more than his family leaving. The Once-ler falls to the ground where he is and just sits.

A week. No one comes this way. Why should they? Venture into the wastelands, the dead lands the Once-ler killed. He takes to wandering his factory floors, empty and as lifeless as the outdoors.

A month. With it comes a new discovery, one the Once-ler holds and cradles in his gloved hands like a diamond. There is a knock at his office doors and his heart leaps to his throat. So soon? They've seen the destruction—they'll help! He nearly bounces with re-newed vigor.

A man waits on the other side.

"Hello? Hello! Once-ler—the man who made thneeds! Where are you?"

His heart dies. From out of one shutter, he looks, gloves pressed into his chest. "What do you want?"

"Please, sir, a thneed! The stores have run out and—"

"What do you need a thneed for? Get! Go! And tell them to leave me alone!"

The man leaves, fearful.

The Once-ler looks down at the seed he holds.

**02. The Woman in White**

A year. No one comes. The Once-ler wallows in misery, locked away in his office. He takes to talking to things—he doesn't mean to. A lamp post becomes good conversation. He'll find himself muttering into thin air at times. He never plays the guitar anymore; more than two dozen of them gather dust in one of his many rooms.

He agonizes what to do about the _seed_ when his doorbell rings.

He isn't surprised. It often rings inside his head.

A woman stands on the other side, impeccably dressed in a sharp white suit and smiling plastically. Behind her is an old nag tethered to a wagon. Something about the scene is familiar.

Disgust flashes in her eyes at his unkempt appearance, quickly replaced. "Good evening, sir. I must say, you're really outside the town limits, now aren't you? I have _just_ the thing for you, sir, _perfect_ for you, sir—"

And the Once-ler stares off at nothing, morbid flashbacks playing in his vision as she speaks, holding up some "wondrous new invention, top of the line, sir, _**does everything**_", and something inside breaks a little.

He feels _very_ justified slamming the door on her and her contraption.

**03. The Child of Riches**

He loses count of his vistors, only some of which ask about trees. He remembers the first to drop by as though he were some sort of sideshow, like some awful wizard of the wastes.

It's been years by the time he retreats to the tallest tower still standing, windows boarded up and doorbells rigged. The Once-ler can look outside his windows and see shadows on the horizon, a long train of cars approaching. They leave trails of smog in their wake. Once-ler is tempted to ignore whoever this is, honestly praying they pass him by…

He knows better. What else lies outside the town ruins than his lurkum?

Out of the lead car, steps a little girl though, and the Once-ler feels his stupid, unsquashed hope soar. Children are sweet, children are _innocent_, his mind supplies. His hopes are dashed the moment the child's mouth opens.

She looks to a man beside her, finger jabbing the sky to point to where he _knows_ they can see him, standing by boarded up windows.

"Daddy, _that's_ the man with the seed! I want it, I want it, I want it _now_!"

He lies and says there _are_ no seeds.

…They leave.

**04. The Man of Deceit**

One day, the Once-ler looks out his window and sees someone new coming. It's been years and years since the Lorax left, and the Once-ler shows it with wrinkles and gray hairs. Every prediction the Lorax made has come to pass: lungs scarred, ruined, his voice as tarnished as the swomme swans that fled.

He looks down at this newcomer. Something is… off.

"Are you the Once-ler?" the boy calls. The Once-ler frowns down at him from his perch. The person down there is tiny, but sounds like a lisping teenager. He shakes his head, and reminds himself to focus.

"Who wants to know?"

"I just want to know how you did it—how'd you make your empire? You could even call me your biggest fan!"

The Once-ler withdraws in disgust. He's sick and tired of his 'fans'.

The boy below sees it. "Wait! Wait! What's this I hear about a truffula seed?"

The Once-ler disappears.

O'Hare leaves in disgust, rejected by his own idol. He'll be better, he swears. When his own empire grows, he walls of the wastes and makes sure no one ever dreams about trees—he'll be better than the Once-ler. He won't let himself fall.

**05. The Boy Who Listened**

The Once-ler watched as the walls around the city went up. Sometimes he watches still, never puzzling over why the city was re-named Thneedville—never thinking to remember his last encounter.

No one ever comes this way anymore. Not even for a story, or a sale, and never for a seed. He waits in his lurkum, hands cradling the seed, the very last truffula seed, even as the skies grow darker and the air ever smokier. This world isn't ready for a seed.

He wonders if it will ever be.

His hair has gone completely white, and nearly the entirety of his factory compounds have decayed when the boy comes. At first, he scarcely believes it. It _can't_ be another person, he _can't_ handle anymore disappointment. He's too old for that sort of let down.

But the boy asks about trees. _Nobody_ asks about trees. Who cared if a few trees were dying? No one, and no one cared that there aren't anymore trees left to die. In fifty years, _nobody _has asked for a tree. Not quite like this... Only this boy.

And the Once-ler can't ignore that. So…

He begins.

"It all started a long… _long_ time ago…"

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><p>Seriously, guys. Leave a prompt and I'll really do my best to fill it. Chances are it'll be a 200 word drabble like these guys, but they're not too bad, right?<p>

Review and you'll have made my day!


	3. Four Parts to an Illness

**A/N:** Okay, so, Butterflyaura's prompt seemed so fluffy I couldn't resist, and typed this up real quick. I hope this is what she wanted-it's what came to mind and seemed to fit, and well, I _am _sorry if it flows oddly. I'm not very good at open-end oneshots, but I love these structured ones. If I had left this free-form, I would have lost my thought too easily.

Prompt: An illness, young!Once-ler, the Lorax

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><p><strong>An Illness in Four Parts<strong>

**01. The Refusal**

A stack of request forms sat next to the Once-ler, a pile a foot high, with specifications such as color and pricier requests such as thread quality and texture. He was selling these babies for a higher price than 3.95, but for once in his life they were worth something higher. Whereas one time he couldn't have given them away, he could now charge upwards of fifty-five bucks for a customized thneed, and once his family arrived…

Well, could churn these babies out even faster then. He had been working non-stop for three days straight, and already had eleven thneeds ready to sell. He was nearly done with his twelve, but even then he couldn't stop. His family would be here, soon, and he needed something to show for his efforts.

Mother would be so proud if he could showcase his invention, point out in the town and say "Everybody's wearing one."

He let the thought energize him, even as he started growing warmer, a scratch building in the back of his throat. It started to hurt as he swallowed, and really, his eyes were feeling heavy, but he had a mission.

No little sickness would keep him from it.

**02. The Discovery**

The Lorax hadn't seen much of the kid, not since the little outburst the town had. The kid had taken the time to gather truffula tufts like a madman for a few hours (managing to even keep his promise, not chopping a single trunk) before disappearing. Satisfied the kid could be trusted with the forest, the Lorax had gone his own way for a while.

It was a big forest after all, and somebody had to take care of it.

Still. He had to worry when he got back to the kid's part, the clearing silent.

Even the animals were nowhere to be seen…

"Yo, kid! Where the heck are you…?" The Lorax wandered towards the tent, peering in with interest around the open door.

The kid was passed out on the floor, face as pale as the dead and shivering. A few of the forest animals were huddled around him, Pipsqueak locked in a loose hold like some sort of teddy bear. The cub looked out to the Lorax and quietly cried.

The Lorax hurried inside. "Kid! Kid, speak to me!"

A weak groan was his only answer, a dozen creatures looking to him for reassurance.

"It'll be okay…"

**03. Dilligence**

A few of the larger barbaloots had managed to lift the Once-ler into bed, and soon the animals had joined him, loosely curled around to offer what heat and comfort they could. While he regained some color, he still shook, and the Lorax fumbled about the tent space for what kinds of cures he had for humans.

There weren't many, so he turned to the forest for answers he trusted. He dug up a few roots from a few of the larger truffula trees, taking from places he knew wouldn't harm them. He collected a few fallen fruits, and the fresh, clear mountain runoff. He made a tea with the root juice, cut the fruit into slices, and he and the animals sat the kid up to eat.

The Once-ler's gaze was unfocused, and the tea put him right back out. The Lorax turned to the thneeds, eying them a little distastefully before packing them off out of the way. No use wasting what the trees had already given up, or ruining what the idiot had gotten sick over in his haste to make.

With nothing but the quiet snores of a dozen sleeping occupants, the Lorax soon joined them.

**04. Recovery**

The Once-ler sat up in bed. Most of the animals had left already, with just Pipsqueak left remaining in a loose hold next to his chest. The littlest cub was fast asleep, and the Once-ler felt close to rejoining him, eyelids heavy with… whatever he'd been drinking all morning.

He let his dazed eyes go in and out of focus watching the rim of the cup, vaguely remembering there was some reason he didn't want his lips touching that, before downing it entirely.

"Thasssa… good," he finally said, weaving in and out of semi-consciousness. He was aware of a vague peanut-shape talking to him, spindly arm in the arm saying, "…now don't you go pushing yourself so hard, kid, I won't always be there to pick ya up and I don't wanna…" but to be honest he sorta tuned out after that.

He felt a elusive sense of happiness though, as well as a sense of familiarity, and reached out and scooped the peanut up. There was shouting, but the Once-ler didn't care much for the words. Just smiled and mumbled, "Love you, too," before passing out right there.

The Lorax groaned. "Drunken idiot."

He still couldn't help the grin.

**05. Recognition**

The Once-ler wakes up bright and early, completely alone. He swings his feet over the edge of the bed, stretches and gets dressed. His memories of the last few days are hazy, with more dream-like qualities than anything substancial. Cause really, there's no possible way the last few days had happened, and he gets up to cross a day off the calandar.

He finds three have already been marked out. He stumbles, looks around and sees the truth of the evidence: he sees more fur and feathers than he'll normally allow scattered about, the thneeds very carefully packed away, eleven and half of them completed. There's a bowl of truffula fruit on the table, plus a few crushed roots on the counter. There's fur on his _bed_ and that one sort of creeps him out, but it's touching at the same time.

He almost wants to go find that annoying little fanatic and friends and give them some marshmallows or something, when his eyes zero in on the tea cups he _knows_ he lets the fish sit in—it was too much work keeping them out.

Those cups are half-full of a soupy brown tea.

...He goes back to bed.

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><p><strong>AN:** Okay, yeah, so the last part switched tense on me, but it just felt better in present.

As always, leave a prompt if you want. These are fun.


	4. Four Stories of Youth

**A/N:** An unprompted story this time, not entirely sure where it came from. Kinda experimenting further with past tense, but I let it slide for part 5.

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><p><strong>Four Stories of the Younger Years Plus the Day Youth Ended<strong>

**01. Newborn**

"Do you want to hold him?" a nurse asked, smiling brightly at the child she held in her arms. It was only the nurse, the baby, and the new mother in the room; the doctors had already left, and she hadn't come with family.

The nurse grinned and (unprofessionally) cooed at the baby a moment before looking to the mother—who still hadn't said anything.

"… Ma'am?"

Finally she looked at the baby, a little flare of disgust flashing in her eyes before that was quickly stifled, asking, "Excuse me, but is it supposed to be so… squashed-lookin'?"

"Well… yeah…"

"And what's that gunk all over it? It's almost _purple_, it's so red. Go clean it up or somethin'."

A little bewildered, the nurse left, and returned later with the newborn—this time by orders of another nurse. "It's just the exhaustion," she had explained, but all the same, the nurse was a little more hesitant.

The young mother looked just as irritated this time around, huffing as she set her magazine on her lap.

"Back already?" she said. The nurse nodded, and the woman sighed. "Well, give it here."

She handed the baby over. It was an awkward pose between mother and child; the baby seemed as stiff as the mother, and close to crying.

The doctor entered then, though, and everything about the posture changed. The mother cooed and crooned over her child, nestling him closer into her arms. It was like a switch had been thrown, and the baby was confused—but seemed to accept the matter.

The nurse had a harder time, and lingered even as the doctor left.

"Ma'am?"

"What is it _now_?"

"Well… it's just the charts, ma'am. What name do you want me to put down?"

"Once-ler. No way I'm doing this _again_."

**02. Preschool**

The Once-ler smiled and nearly bounced as he ran up the stairs to his mother's room, Aunt Grizelda yelling irritably behind him about something. It didn't matter. His little four-year-old self was nearly ecstatic, a piece of paper clutched in his hands.

He was about to knock on his mother's bedroom door when she opened it.

"_Oncie_!"

He flinched. For the last few months, his mother had been more irritated than usual, especially as her belly got bigger. He had asked his aunt about it, and she had grumbled, asking how would _he_ like it if some little monstrosity was kicking his insides all day, every day, for the next nine months, only to pop out painfully to ask annoying questions?

He had let his aunt be and played outside that day.

"What are you _yellin'_ about, child?"

It suddenly didn't seem so great anymore. "I… I made you something in school today…"

"Well? Ya gonna let me _see_ it?"

He held out the paper, watching expectantly as his mother's eyes roamed over it. Finally she looked at him. "Oncie… Baby… I don't need a piece of paper."

"But our teacher said we should draw a picture…"

"Oncie," and here she huffed, plucking him off the ground and standing him on a chair so they were eye-to-eye, "I'm gonna tell you something, _very_ important. The only thing in life that matters is what people _think_ they need. I mean, don't you think I got enough of these pictures? For landssake, kid, they're all over the place!"

"So… you want…?"

"Ya gotta make something everybody _needs_, Oncie. Yeah! Ha, you, the next inventor for a million dollar industry. What am I thinkin'? Go play with the chickens somethin', I'm getting delirious, I'm so tired."

The Once-ler stood there.

_What people _need…

**03. Elementary**

"Wuh-cie? Wuh-cie? Wuh do'in?"

The Once-ler smiled at his brother; Chet usually wasn't too bad. It was only when Brett got him riled up that babysitting duty turned ugly.

Mother had gone out for the day, citing her usual excuse of, "Oncie, I'm _tired_, I actually _work _all day. When you gonna get your head out the clouds and go to the factories like a good son?" She'd left him in charge of the twins for the day.

Chet looked at him expectantly and the Once-ler laughed and set the crochet aside. His hat wasn't coming out quite right anyway—he had no idea where the hole for the head had gone, he kinda thought he could see it _somewhere_ in the middle of this pink atrocity. Perhaps he could take up knitting instead…

"Nothing much. What's up?"

"Nuhtin' mut'ch…"

The twins were only three, and hadn't very well grasped the English language. The Once-ler tried to remember what he was like at that age; his teachers had always bragged about how smart he was, but Mother didn't really have much to say to that besides, "Uh-huh. Sure." That was okay. He was always thinking, ready with some new plan on the tip of his tongue. He'd make her proud one day; he still remembered what she had said. Make something people need.

"Whuh's thah?" Chet asked.

The Once-ler followed his finger to the pink thing he'd tossed to the side, shrugging. "Your guess is as good as mine. Uh… It's, uh… It's a… athingpeopleneed."

"Uh?"

The Once-ler sighed. _Three-year-olds_. "Yup, it's going to be a thing they need."

"Th'need?"

"No, it's a _thing_ they _need_."

"… thhh'neeed?"

"…Sure. It's a _thneed_." The Once-ler rolled his eyes. "I swear, we are going to _work_ on that pronounciation of yours, kid."

**04. High School**

"Alright, Mom, this time, it's _really_ going to work."

"Oncie, I don't have _time_ for this—"

"Just hear me out." Though she gave him a sour look for speaking over her, his mother settled into her seat with the most contemptuous of expressions. Not the best for a prospective audience, but he'd been bugging her to listen for a week. He'd take what he could get.

"You know how you're always saying you could use another scarf, another belt, or a hat, or even a new dress, but you never have the money to buy one of each? Well, I've created this _amazing_ new invention that can do _all_ of those things and more—"

"Oh, no, not _again_—"

"—comes in all colors—"

"Oncie."

"—absolutely _revolutionary_, and _you_ can be the very first to own your very own thneed—"

"_**Oncie**_."

He paused.

"Oncie, you're a dreamer. And I don't have time for dreamers. Why aren't you a good son, like your brothers? Dumb as doornails they are, but they know how to get out there and work like a team of mules. What about that delivery job of yours? What do you think we even _got_ you that mule for if you never go out and run mail for the people?"

"But, Mom… I'm so _close_ this time. You haven't even seen the wool prototype I made yet—"

"Oncie, I heard you out thus far, I'm not obligated to do so any further. Some people are inventors and you're _just not an inventor_. You're a mailman. Now go out there and deliver mail, like I worked so hard to even get you that job."

"But, Mom—"

"Not everybody's a big man, Oncie. Sometimes you're just the little guy runnin' errands for 'em."

**05. Final**

"Oncie, you have disappointed me."

He looks at his mother, silent, almost in disbelief but he _knew_, deep down, that he shouldn't have expected any more from her. It's never been different in his life, why should it be _now_, when it's just his life falling apart around him, the world crumbling like ash at his touch.

The whole family's loaded up, their every belonging crammed into their RV. The Once-ler remembers their arrival here, how much expectation he held. He pictured it—his mother hugging him tightly, his family silent about how _impossible_ his dreams had seemed so long ago. He had pictured the six of them working, building his industry and himself _finally_ making his mother proud. In a far-off corner in the beginning, he had even entertained the possibility of his friends, those bizarre creatures of the forest always within reach.

He had wondered, once, where they had gone to from those early days, but looking around… did he really need to? Look at what his touch had brought. His wondrous new creation… just some blight upon the world.

He watches as his family leaves. It's the last he will ever see of them, he's sure. He has no desire to crawl after them, and they've never wanted him around. He sees that now.

It's not the end.

The trees were gone, the forest was gone. There was nothing for the creatures here, no reason to remain. They left. Melvin left too, and at last it was just the Once-ler and the Lorax.

There were no words to say, no actions left with any meaning. The Lorax lifted himself away…

And then there was just one man, all alone, aged decades in a day by guilt alone.

That was the end.

There wasn't room for anything else.

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><p>As always, let me know what you think, leave a prompt if you like, I'm open to a challenge.<p> 


	5. Four Moments With Melvin

**A/N:** I really wish these things weren't so much fun. I hope you enjoy reading them even half as much as I like writing them.

Prompt put forth by PersonWNoAccount: examine the Once-ler's relationship with Melvin

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><p><strong>Four Moments With Melvin<strong>

**01. At First Glance**

"So… You got me a _job_."

"Yes."

"Delivering… mail."

"Uh-huh."

"… with what?"

"… Huh."

That brief conversation between mother and son, and next thing he knew, the Once-ler was being dragged around what was easily the slummiest place he'd ever been to. There were plenty of modes of transport—ranging from one-wheeled _bi_cycles to wheelless unicycles, but there were a few somewhat-held-together cars that might pass.

His mother was haggling for a real lemon-in-the-making while the Once-ler zoned out. There were a million things he dreamed to be, a _mailman_ wasn't even close.

He heard a harsh bray.

"GET! IN! _THERE_! _NOW_!"

Glancing at his mother (she was, as always, ignoring him in favor of something else), the Once-ler snuck away, peering behind a wall. There three men were trying and failing to lead a mule into a stall. Its hooves were dug in stubbornly, and the leader reached for a whip.

"Hey!"

They stopped and stared, every last one of them wondering _what_ he had to say. "Uh… That mule for sale?"

It should have worried him when they sold a mule for a less than ten. His mother looked at the bottom line, (actually) praising his spend-thrift.

**02. Indentured Servants**

He named him Melvin. He had always liked the name, and the creature watched him so dryly sometimes, he just couldn't name him something insulting like 'Fluffy'. Still, he never brought out a whip and the creature always (if grudgingly) listened, so they soon fell into an easy routine. The Once-ler woke earlier than the sun, dragging his sorry self through his morning chores, laying out his family's breakfast and scarfing down some bread before hitching Melvin up and readying the feed bag.

"How _fair_ is it," he huffed, securing a few more lines, "that your breakfast is better than mine?"

Melvin rolled his eyes. "I saw that. Don't think I won't sell you." Another roll of the eyes. "I mean it," he said as they took off. "Glue factory. You. If we don't pick up the pace and actually _deliver_ the mail today, that might be the _only_ way I pay off Mother."

A curious twitch of an ear. "What, you didn't think I got the wagon for _free_, did you? _You_ were cheap," a snort, "but not everything gets given away for ticking off their master…

"… Please don't kick me again… Melvin?"

Melvin picked up the pace.

**03.** **Support**

"I'll show them… One day. I mean… It's a _good_ idea! Who wouldn't need a thneed?"

All the same, though, it hurt. His mother had blown him off again, telling him in no uncertain terms his dream was going nowhere, fast. She was just trying to encourage him, right? Reverse-psychology? Building character? …Toughening him up?

He'd grasp at straws to avoid the truth.

His walk to cool off led him to the barn, its dry warmth comforting compared to static cling of his family. Whether it was Mother dismissing him, or the twins tormenting him, there was often little for the Once-ler to connect with in his family. He was just… different.

He took a seat in the barn, dreading returning to his home. This latest spat had cut a little deeper… He wondered what in the world he was expected to do—prove everyone wrong? Maybe that meant they were all right…

A blanket dropped over his right shoulder. Melvin stood there, looking everywhere but at _him_, half-heartedly glaring when the Once-ler smiled.

He reached up and settled the coarse fabric over his shoulders, whispering, "Thanks."

He knew to look for the twitch of an ear. He'd been heard.

**04. Traveling Twosome**

They had _done_ it. They had _actually_ done it. They were going, leaving, the valley a shrinking dot in the distance, the whole world waiting. Material for thneeds was out there for the taking, and with it would come so much more. The Once-ler whooped, strumming out a few notes on the guitar. His family had never been particularly supporting of his dreams, but they would be when they saw them pay off.

Melvin looked back over his shoulder to his ecstatic owner, shaking his head, plodding along. They had miles to cover and _someone_ had to play the human here.

"Heeey, what? Come on, no more mail service! Even _you_ can show a little joy for that, can't you? … Seriously, don't kick me, Melvin."

For a moment they traveled in silence, and Melvin nearly _did_ agree with the idiot calling the shots. No more twins, for one thing. That alone was enough reason for this 'joy' the Once-ler spoke of, correct? Melvin nearly gave into this phenomenon… before _it_ happened.

The first strum of the world's most annoying, never-ending song ever.

"Nah, nah, nahnahnahnah… Goin' off to make a _thneeeed_!"

He'd wish for the twins at this rate.

**05. Barely There**

Things were changing. The world was a different place now, and the Once-ler didn't need a _mule_. His factories churned out thousands of thneeds, a new one every second of every day. His trucks shipped them, every billboard advertised them. What good was a mule?

Not that he forgot about Melvin. Never forgot. Melvin had a better stall than most people's homes, fur brushed and pampered, all the finest feed. He had a trainer to keep him healthy, a routine vet to make sure the smog from the sky never got to him.

And it never felt right. Outside his stall, the world was dead, the grass gone and dried up into weeds, the bright blue sky gray and overcast. While the Once-ler's goons would have Melvin's every need indulged, the Once-ler himself would rarely visit.

A multi-million dollar industry was taxing, and it was so much easier to see the destruction from the stable floors. The Once-ler wasn't the same kid that bought a grumpy mule for ten bucks. Melvin couldn't say he was grumpy anymore.

He was just sad, watching as his stupid (brilliant) selfish (blind) kid destroyed their home.

Then the last tree fell, and nothing remained.

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><p>Review? Prompt me? I think I have an addiction. Feed it? ;)<p> 


	6. Four Looks the Onceler Tried

**A/N:** Not quite sure this is what the reviewer Eko prompted, but it was my favorite interpretation.

**Prompt by Eko (summarized):** Once-ler, haircuts

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><p><strong>Four Times the Once-ler Searched For a Look and the One Time He Found It<strong>

**01. First**

"Mom, do we _have_ to do a bowl cut again? I'll look ridiculous! Can't you give it some style this time? Or maybe we could go to an _actual_ barber for once…?"

"Oncie, with those ears of yours you'll look ridiculous no matter what I do. You had _better_ be grateful I work hard to hide those things at all. You don't _need_ a haircut, and I'm not payin' for one. You don't like the way I cut that hair o'yours, you can just cut it yourself," his mother huffed, waltzing off.

What more encouragement did a boy need? Moving to stand in front of the mirror, the Once-ler appraised himself at all angles. His most recent trimming still lingered, obvious in the way his hair hung in straight lines over his ears. At the delicate age of twelve, he was aware that he needed a _look_. If he couldn't change his clothes (he couldn't afford it) then why not start with his hair?

Anything had to be better than what he had right then.

With a self-determined nod, the Once-ler steeled himself and made the first snip.

His patchy, crooked haircut was the family's joke for the month.

**02. Second**

"Alright, maybe no scissors this time," the Once-ler told his reflection. He had surrounding him a plethora of hair care products, mostly discount brand and bargain store-quality. He grinned as he looked about.

Though it had taken two months, his hair was largely unremarkable, hanging in long, curling waves near his chin. He thought he could do better than that at least, and picked a tub of hair product at random.

'Extra-Strength Industrial Hair Glue—Keeps Shape for Days' it promised, and the Once-ler shrugged. Opening the tub, he dipped his fingers in and smoothed the wayward strands down, his hair molding to the curves of his neck, hardening. He should have read the warnings:

_Caution: Do Not Allow Contact With Skin While Drying. Product May Stick_.

His patch-job of a haircut was nothing to the doubled-over hysteria of his family when he stepped out the bathroom, right hand fused to his head by a product that guaranteed "days of shape". Even his hair looked ridiculous—like Brett and Chet had held him under a water bucket for too long, tight, greasy, and hard as plaster. The comparison to drowning was apt; Mother scrubbed for hours trying to break the shell.

**03. Third**

The past humiliations behind him, the Once-ler once again eyed his supplies—this time a little more warily. He tossed aside anything that was 'industrial strength', looking instead to simpler, more herbalist measures. He gingerly picked up one such bottle, carefully reading the directions and warnings. It promised to lighten one's natural hair color—just a few shades, providing a natural-looking highlight to dull and boring hair. How bad could that be?

He applied a few liberal sprinklings. It advised for time in the sun to activate the product.

His hair turned pink in the sun.

He turned lobster red.

**04. Fourth**

"Honey, you _have_ to cut your hair _some_time."

"Nope."

"You're just gonna let it grow? What do you think you are, some sorta hippie? Who do you think I raised? Get over here and let me cut it!"

"Nope."

"_Oncie_."

"_Mother_."

A stare down of epic proportions commenced, mother and son locked in that age-old battle of wills between parent and pre-teen. Perhaps any other time, the Once-ler would have folded. Instead, his past summer had been spent facing humiliation after humiliation, with middle school only a week and a half away. He still sulked after every after every hair care failure, and had decided, without a doubt, to take the road of futility. It hung to his shoulders now, greasy and more than a little awful-looking. He had conceeded defeat, and his mother threw her hands up and sighed.

Then laughed. "Well! At least that sunburn of yours is finally gone," she called as she left.

The Once-ler cringed at the memory. For a moment he stewed in silence, every ounce full of pre-teen angst…

…and then he stood up, gauging himself in the mirror. He looked ridiculous even then—no different than his failures.

He couldn't give up.

**05. Perfect**

It wasn't the fifth haircut. It wasn't even the seventh.

It was the twenty-third try, and by then even his family had gotten sick and tired of laughing at him, hardly impressed with each new look he tried. No real comment was ever made when he showed up with some latest bit of scorched hair, the tips still lightly smoking, merely a gripe from his aunt about how he was smelling up the kitchen. They were almost indifferent to the perm fiasco—largely because _that_ had been _nothing_ compared to the 'fro.

But the twenty-third try was _perfect_. Absolutely perfect. Lightly shampooed and then expertly cut—he'd been paid to practice on sheep, then later on dogs and eventually even people—the Once-ler grinned at his new look. It had taken a year and a _half_ of trials and errors. He'd nearly gone bald at one point, his hair stressed and teased and pulled to new lengths, but he had paced himself. He had _done_ it, and now it was trimmed just around his ears, neither hiding them nor putting them on display. His bangs he brushed to the side, and a regular shampooing kept it fluffy.

He looked _good_.

* * *

><p>Just in case I never explained, this is a fill for the movie <em>The Lorax<em>. I understand the Once-ler's the most popular, but for fans of other characters, or even those who want something new, pretty much any character can get prompted. Not a complaint against my Once-ler prompts and prompters-I love that guy as much as anyone, and your prompts are just about the funnest part of my day, just want to make it known that this isn't _necessarily_ a Once-ler only arena. You know. If anyone's interested. I've got a few other prompts in the works, but good things to those who wait, yeah?

Oh, right. Review? Anyone? :)


	7. Four Prototypes That Never Worked

**A/N:** Prompted by TristaStrange02. Takes place between the time where the Once-ler is nine-ish and eleven-ish, nonspecific.

**Prompt from TristaStrange02:** Once-ler, designing of prototypes

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><p><strong>Four Prototypes That Never Worked Plus+<strong>

**01. Disaster From the Beginning**

"Wuh-cie, you'shur 'bout t'is?" Chet mumbled. The newly-minted four-year-old looked up at his older brother, brow furrowed. In his arms he was lugging a ten-pound contraption his brother had jealously been guarding, hiding it from the entire family for weeks.

(Not that he should have bothered. Mama and Aunt Grizzy hardly ever noticed where the Once-ler was, and Uncle Ubb only ever noticed what Mama and Grizelda _told_ him to.)

"Course I'm sure. Now, let's see…" The Once-ler tugged his brother after him, examining the kitchen and selecting a clear space in open view. He lifted the new machine from his brother's arms, petting its side affectionately as he settled it on the counter. "That ought to work."

"Wuh-cie?" asked Chet again. "Wha's it do?"

"It's a _coffee_ _maker_," the nine-year-old explained excitedly. "You know how Mom's always complaining about her instant coffee? Well… _This_ baby'll grind her beans and everything. She'll love it."

"_Oncie_!"

Even though his mother sounded angry, the Once-ler knew it couldn't last. Not in the face of _this._ "Mom, check it out, it's my new prototype, see—"

And he flipped the switch. At first, it worked. Mother even looked intrigued, faintly.

Then it exploded.

**02. Two Week Respite**

His mother's glare could have froze water in its tracks. The Once-ler grinned and bared with it, telling himself it wasn't much worse than any other look she had given him. She eyed the machine in his arms with upmost trepidation, sliding back as he stepped closer.

"Don't you _dare_ turn that thing on…!"

"Don't you just hate it when you come home from work and your feet are hurting?" the Once-ler said, trembling slightly. His coffee maker hadn't worked very well—his mother had even gone to the doctor for a few especially bad burns, and after the first pain medication had worn off, she proved quite resentful for that. Not that the Once-ler wasn't feeling guilty already.

It had led to his second invention, sitting here before her. It was a bowl-shaped mechanism, with valves and pumps and heaters strapped to the side.

"It's a foot massager—"

"_Oncie_."

"—seriously, I tested it out, it works, really does—"

He turned it on, just as his mother swatted it, knocking a gadget loose just as hot water was released from the heating chambers. The jets went off—

His mother had him packing before the hour was out.

**03. Exported Prisoner**

"No funny business, you hear," his maternal grandmother said on the Once-ler's first day with her. He had stood there awkwardly for a moment or two, his bag half-packed but containing every thing that he owned. His mother hadn't taken kindly to his last few inventions—something likely to do with the fact that _boiling water_ had been involved, and those burns on her feet were still bothering her from the latest flop. His mother had decided to send him away, "Lest I be tempted to _kill_ you."

He didn't let that last one get to him. He blamed her second pain pill.

His grandmother proved to be elusive, leaving him to his own devices much of the time. Never a good idea, really, and he found himself pondering what a pain it had to be for his grandmother to walk up those stairs of hers everyday. The stairs, in typical fashion, were open to the first floor, and he worried about her.

…She'd probably like some help.

He never _actually_ built a stair-chair (his own word) for her, but he did install the monorail for it. She came home just as he accidently put another hole in the wall.

**04. Ten-and-a-Half-Year-Old Inventor**

"Mama was really angry last time, Oncie."

"I see your pronounciation's improving, at least," the Once-ler drawled. He kept his back to Chet, buried up to his wrists in spare parts and gears. A few tools lay scattered around him and he motioned for the wrench. Chet passed it over wordlessly.

"She'll send ya 'way again."

"No she won't. Besides—Grandma wouldn't even let her," the Once-ler said. "I mean, that was a total fluke last time. You must've just jangled something when you were carrying the coffee maker in from the barn. It worked flawlessly the first time."

"Mama still won't like this."

"Don't _worry_."

Chet wasn't reassured. "…What're you making?"

The Once-ler finally looked up, grinning like a maniac. He'd likely been waiting for that question for a week.

"It's a wondrous new invention! I call it… a _vacuum_!"

"…A what?"

"Check it out," the Once-ler said smugly. He flipped a switch, just in time for his mother to walk in.

"Oncie—"

There was a thunderous, metallic _burp_ and the machine threw a cloud of dirt in her face. Nobody spoke. Slowly…

"…I forgot the bag."

"I don't want to hear it, Oncie. Just… clean this up."

**05. Harmony**

For a long, long time, the Once-ler stopped making presents for his mother. She seemed to appreciate that, and they returned to their amiacable co-existence. He'd first make something revolutionary for the _world_, then call her , he dedicated himself to his own little projects, tucking himself safely away in the backrooms of the barn, surrounded by stacks and stacks of library books.

He had an idea, a new little dream. His mother didn't care, as long as he _stopped_ bringing them to her. He had to agree with her.

It took seven tries. Many busted blocks of wood took to littering the corners of the barn, but he redoubled his efforts each time he failed. The twins watched him work sometimes, but Brett rarely saw the fun of hanging around in cool dark barns on summer days, and Chet had recently taken to following his twin over his brother.

The Once-ler tried to ignore that. He focused instead on his project, mapping out the next prototype with more care each time.

It paid off… eventually. A few trial and errors, and he was soon basking in the glory of a completed, _gorgeous_ black guitar.

Success was very sweet.

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><p><strong>AN:** So, I have decided to take a brief break on the Once-ler. I love writing for him, I really do, but his stories are kinda starting to bleed together. One reviewer prompted Pipsqueak (which sounds _really_ fun), but without a specified situation, so... I'll interpret that as a freebie for you guys. Leave a prompt for that ball of fur and I'll see what I can do :)

By the way: past prompts have been logged into a word doc, which get removed upon completion to make it easier to find the unfilled ones. Just because I skip around doesn't mean your prompt's out for the count, and quite a few of I'm looking forward to. They won't get lost in the review box ;)

You guys are great. Thanks so much for great response, and I look forward to the next story :)


	8. Four Parts to Another's Illness

**A/N:** Okay, so you _can't_ escape the Once-ler (easily) in a Lorax fandom. I certaintly couldn't. But I _did_ get out of his childhood for a while, so it sorta worked out like I wanted :D

**Prompt from Gremblin: **Pipsqueak, illness

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><p><strong>Four Parts to Another's Illness<strong>

**01. Too Much Trust**

No one had time for the littlest bear anymore—the Lorax did all he could, but the truffula tree choppers were everywhere, and an animal had to eat. _Pipsqueak_ had to eat, and his brothers couldn't look after him all the time.

He searched for food.

He found nothing.

The forest was a wasteland, the ground trembling as the choppers and trucks rolled by. They were so much scarier than any thunderstorm the cub had thus far seen in his life, but most had been there so long, he could barely remember anything else. It never rained—nothing except the rain that _burned_, and no one in the forest wished for it anymore. This dry ash was better, better at least than acid rain and mud and muck.

Left alone as the creatures spread out far and wide for food, Pipsqueak listened as his stomach growled, as the ground trembled and the trucks roared past, dragging trees behind them.

Some of them had fruits still clinging to them, and Pip watched as they drove along the roads to the epicenter of destruction: the Once-ler's home, and he remembered the food, the warmth, the _safety_ of the Once-ler's house.

He took the road few animals traveled anymore, dreaming of white marshmallows and delicious treats. He ducked in and out of the way of passing trucks, shivering as each thunders past, but remembered the Once-ler: always kind, always with food. He was hungry, and found his way to where the Once-ler's old tent used to sit. In its place was the factory, big and gray and smelly, but the Once-ler was there.

Reassured by the promise of the Once-ler's proximity, the barbaloot searched the perimeter for food. Plastics littered the premises, and he didn't know the difference between packaging styrofoam and marshmallows.

**02. Indignation**

"For he's a jolly good Once-ler, for he's a jolly good Once-ler, for he's a jolly good Once-_leeerrrr_… That nobody can deny!"

The Once-ler burst in laughs as he wrapped up the chorus, downing another glass as the limo pulled into his factory. Everyone loved him and his invention—even that persistent, annoying little Lorax couldn't deny that. Celebrations were held in his honor, with speeches and parades and thneed promotions. What was with that Lorax, trying to rain on such a joyous occasion?

He stepped out of his limo, basking in the glory of his industrial empire, when he heard a noise.

"Hey! Outta here! Get! _Get!_"

Frowning, the Once-ler ambled around the corner. It couldn't possibly be the Lorax again, could it? Mother was always throwing the creature off the factory premises, but even he usually gave it a break for about a week at _least_ before bugging them again.

It was much worse.

It was _Pipsqueak_, and Aunt Grizelda was readying the broom for another _whack_.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" the Once-ler ordered.

Grizelda had frozen at the Once-ler's appearance; she dropped the broom behind her like it was white-hot, grinning unpleasantly at her nephew. "You wouldn't want one of these creatures too close to the factory, Oncie," and did that endearment ever sound odd coming from his cantankerous old aunt, "They might get hurt."

"Well… Yeah, but you don't have to _beat_ the poor guy," he said, crouching down to the cub's level. Pipsqueak just laid there listlessly, just his eyes to show he was even alive. "Hey… You okay, little buddy?"

"He's _fine_," Aunt Grizelda said dismissively. "How was your parade? Sell any thneeds?"

"It was fine," he said, mimicking her tone. He focused on Pipsqueak.

"He really doesn't look so good…"

**03. The Blame Game**

He ended up taking Pipsqueak up to his office, holding the cub in his lap even as he absently signed for more development in the untouched areas, stroking circles on the barbaloot's stomach. He couldn't figure out _what_ was wrong with the cub, but it was starting to get to him. He called his mother, and she suggested a vet—and that was only after he insisted they get the bear to somebody. Prior to that, she had taken his aunt's approach: that the critter was fine and they shouldn't interfere with nature's plans.

"Don't worry, little guy," the Once-ler told the cub. "We're going to the vet soon. He'll know what's wrong. You'll be better in no time—"

"It shouldn't be hard to guess what happened," the Lorax said, and the Once-ler jumped as he stepped from behind.

"Haven't I said to _stop_ doing that?" he groused, holding Pip a little closer. "What do you want _now_? I'm busy."

"You're always busy, but this shouldn't be a mystery to you, kid. Don't you know what happens when you don't pay attention to the trash you throw around? Animals get _sick_. They _die_, beanpole."

"Pipsqueak's not gonna _die_," the Once-ler said heatedly.

"Pipsqueak might not… but others have."

"Don't you have _any_where else to be? There has to be _somebody_ else you can bother."

The Lorax looked at the Once-ler for a long, long time.

"…I'm not ready to give up on you, kid. Just… Take care of him."

The Once-ler looked up, surprised. "Wait. You're not taking him with you? What's up with you?"

"What am I supposed to do?" the Lorax said. "I've got nothing but ash and smog to offer him now. You might be the only chance he has…

"…even if you are the cause."

**04. Trepidation**

"Well? Will he be okay?" the Once-ler asked. The vet looked to his mother, then nodded.

"Absolutely. Just a little bug, perfectly natural."

"So… it's nothing _I_ did… right?" He stood there, hat held in his hands, twisting them nervously.

The vet shook his head. "Nothing to be done to prevent this. It _is_ recommended you allow him to stay here for the night though—observation purposes only, you see—but I see no trouble with his recovery."

"Oh. Good." The Once-ler let the secretaries lead him away to fill out more papers, leaving the vet and his mother alone, Pipsqueak prone on the table. The moment they were alone, all pretenses of pleasantry were dropped. It was down to business now.

"Thank you, Doctor. Will you have this creature looking _somewhat_ passable by the end of the week?" the Once-ler's mother asked, even as she fished out a few hundreds from her purse.

"Well, it'll take some time to recover, but we should be able to have the stomach and intestines cleared of all plastics by tomorrow. I'm amazed the creature didn't choke."

"Yes, well, don't let my son hear you talkin' like that," the woman said. "I can't figure it out, but he's got some attachment to these critters. Last thing I need is him goin' all preach-y on us like that Lorax-thing."

"Absolutely, ma'am. Now, if you don't mind, I have a _patient_ to deal with."

The woman smiled thinly and left, joining her son in the lobby of the vet's office. He looked at her.

"Did the vet have anything else to say? Is something wrong?"

"Oh, _no_, Oncie, not a thing. He and I were just settling a few details, you know, accommodations and such. That little pet'a yours'll be better in no time, baby."

**05. Recovery**

Pip was returned to the Once-ler just after a few days, lethargic but better—that much was obvious a thousand times over. He sat awkwardly on the Once-ler's lap as the Once-ler worked, scribbling his signature on documents in-between moments of fussing over 'his little buddy'.

"You know, I've missed you guys. Why don't you come by more often? You're not like the Lorax. I mean, name _one_ bad thing my company's done. If I didn't have my company, if I wasn't some wild success, I couldn't have paid for your vet visit, now could I? What would the _Lorax_ have done? Feed you tree root tea and cookies? Ha! I bring the wonders of modern science and medicine. Beat that, tree hugger."

Pipsqueak groaned a little weakly, and the Once-ler rubbed his head affectionately. "You'll feel better soon. Hungry?" Pipsqueak stirred at the mention of food, and the Once-ler reached for the bag the vet had sent home with the cub, fingers brushing the brown paper before pausing in thought. Grinning, he reached instead into a coat pocket, withdrawing a single, fluffy marshmallow.

Instead of delight, Pipsqueak shied away at the sight of the white treat.

"Hey, what's the matter? You love these things! Remember?" The Once-ler waved it enticingly, before shrugging and popping it into his mouth. Pipsqueak watched him carefully, and when the Once-ler offered a second, he_ very carefully_ took it, sniffing and examining the treat before taking small nibbles for himself. The Once-ler beamed and held out another.

Pipsqueak refused a second marshmallow, and the Once-ler chalked it up to the lingering effects of whatever bug the barbaloot was recovering from.

Pipsqueak let the Once-ler coddle him, curled up into the crook of his arm. He understood now why no one came by there anymore.

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><p>Thanks for the reviews last time, guys! You can still make prompts on whatever you want. I look forward to the challenge.<p> 


	9. Four Times Ted Thought He Knew

**A/N:** What is this, a conspiracy or something? ;) From last chapter, no less than FIVE of you guys prompted Ted! Well, you made my choice easy, but pretty much all of those prompts got smooshed together into this one and were _loosely_ interpretted.

**Prompt (collectively) from Roof riff, Gremblin, Furypupy688, Dolphin334567, and Dj345:** Ted, Once-ler, "dad", sickness fic, advice, injury, etc...

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><p><strong>Four Times Ted Thought He Knew<strong>

**01. Assessment**

Ted never really knew his father. Mom didn't like mentioning him—she had a tendency of avoiding uncomfortable topics, like things that made her sad, and Ted followed suit and often avoided them for her sake. He didn't know how his parents met, what his dad was like, even if he was dead…

…and, well, he learned to live with that. Eventually, he decided it didn't matter. He had Mom and Grammy, and sometimes that was enough.

He had ideas though—about what the word "Dad" _meant_. And sometimes, he thought maybe he had already found the best one ever.

**02. Saturdays**

"Alright, pick up your shovel," the Once-ler said one morning, his own already slung over his shoulder. Ted nodded, offered a faux-salute, and together the duo departed for the deeper parts of the valley wastelands—it was swiftly becoming a valley paradise as grass sprouts were shooting up and truffula saplings were growing.

Some of them were emerging too closely together, and the Once-ler instructed Ted on how to carefully dig up the saplings, gently untangle their roots and replant them a little further away.

"Once a truffula tree reaches a certaint maturity," he explained as they dug, "it begins to release a diluted toxin into the ground around it to limit the competion from other truffulas. If we left these little guys so close together, in the end, only one of them would survive."

"Wow. How do you know so much about trees if they've been gone for so long?" Ted asked.

"The Lorax kept leaving me books on them," he said with a laugh, not sounding cheery at all. "Everywhere. In my file folders, under my bed covers so I would always _just_ get poked in the ribs… Even printed on recycled paper." The Once-ler shook his head. "He wasn't the only one speaking for the trees. There were a few odd ones back in my day—not active enough to be heard, but there. Always doing things half-heartedly, like printing those books. I never even read them, just… I guess it's all the Lorax could do when my family wouldn't let him through."

For a while, they were silent as they worked. But Ted had more questions.

He always did. "Why isn't anyone else here? They'd love to help."

"And they will. Because you're gonna teach them. It can't be me, Ted… but it can be you."

**03. Back in the World of Teenage Angst**

The Once-ler tried to keep the bemused look off of his face, but honestly, that mustache of his didn't hide nearly enough. Ted glared, downed another glass of tea like it was a shot and slammed his mug down. He looked ridiculous, _knew it_, and half-heartedly embraced that.

"It's no joke!" he said dramatically, even as the Once-ler fought the urge to smile broader. They were together in the Once-ler's kitchen, and even the recent cleaning done by the old man couldn't hide the damage wrought by years of neglect. Ted had dutifully ignored it, accepted the mug of hot tea when it was offered to him, before sitting down where the Once-ler indicated and unloading his rant. "This is total Romeo-and-Juliet-type love and you're laughing!"

"You're right, you're right, Ted, go on. I'll stop, I promise." But that knowing twinkle remained in the old man's eyes, and Ted couldn't deny—it was _refreshing_ to have someone who regarded his problems as both serious and trivial. With two hours to cool off and a warm belly of hot tea, he had to admit… he wasn't sure anymore what had gotten him into such a knot.

"Well… It's just… Look. I have complete faith in Audrey, I really do, it just… _bothers_ me that she's got to work with an old boyfriend of hers on this school thing. And… it might not be so bad if she _hated_ it, but…"

"Let me guess: she doesn't, right?"

"Yeah. And I mean, he's her _age_, they've been in class together since they were eight, he's like the most popular guy in he grade... Do I even have a chance against this guy?"

The Once-ler folded his hands as he thought for a moment.

He answered: "Did he ever bring her a forest, Ted?"

**04. Sick Daze**

Ted slept through most of Saturday, grudgingly, and only after extracting a promise from his mom that somebody would tell the Once-ler he couldn't be there for their Saturday cleaning like he promised. He felt woozy everytime he stood up and his throat felt raw, like someone was scraping sandpaper along his esophagus with every swallow. His eyes were red and his nose was stuffy; he was a real sight to see, and hoped no one other than Grammy and Mom saw him like such.

Of course, he had to wake up at his mother's prodding Sunday, all to find the Once-ler standing there, awkward and out of place, a pot of something held in front of his chest like a sheild.

"Teddy, honey, look who came to see you, dear," his mother said cheerily. "Mr. Once-ler, I think I left some soup on the stove; you gonna be alright there, dear?"

He looked up from the floor, surprised. "Oh… Yes, yes. Just… don't get out much, is all."

"Well, alright then. Just yell if you need me," she said, leaving the two alone.

The Once-ler was the first to speak. "How are you feeling, Ted?"

"Like I'm gonna _die_," the teen said dramatically. "My head is just _pounding_."

The Once-ler winced. Almost sheepishly, he said, "I think it's the pollen… from this forest further south? With the wall torn down, it tends to blow through town…"

"Pollen?" asked Ted, and the Once-ler briefly explained. "So this'll be a _yearly_ thing? Kill. Me. Now."

"It's not so bad. I have a cure… Tea…" Here, he weakly held up the kettle he had carried, filling up one of the empty glasses on Ted's bedside. He looked so uncomfortable standing in the Wiggins' home, and fumbled with the drink.

But it _worked_.

**05. What Comes Naturally**

"Ted, be _careful_. It's fine; I'm fine. _Please_, get _down_ from there," the Once-ler called.

"I do this stuff all the time!"

"Believe it or not, that doesn't reassure me," the Once-ler muttered. They were fixing the Once-ler's house this Saturday, not the forest for once. Ted had insisted, saying, "What if you get sick from a draft? Who'll teach me about trees then?" The Once-ler had offered out his library of truffula books at that point, but Ted had the answer to that one as well: "I'm a teenager. As a general rule, we don't read."

So here they were, the Once-ler steadying a ladder as Ted fixed on of the higher shutters. He'd rather it was himself up there, but Ted had scurried up the rungs before he'd even made a step in its direction. From there on, it was either climb up after him and pull him off, or hold the ladder in place and hope he made it safer. He saw only one choice.

"Man, what did you do, _nail_ these shut? Dude! They're all crooked. There's a gap big enough for my head in one of these holes!"

"Don't lean so far out, Ted. Come down, I'll move the ladder and do it myself—"

"No, I got it—"

Two things happened.

First, Ted leaned too far to the right, and the ladder, old and rickety and unstable, leaned with him.

Second, the Once-ler saw it. He dug his heels in, pulled the ladder to the left and knew it wasn't enough. He dove forward and caught the boy as he fell, tumbling to the ground.

Neither moved, and then Ted breathed out a quiet, "Thanks, Dad."

It came so naturally, he didn't seem to notice he'd said anything all.

But the Once-ler did.

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><p>Well? Did I give you guys your Ted fix with my Ted fics? As always, Four Plus One's door is open for your prompts (and reviews... they feed starving artists, guys! :D)<p>

Also... does anyone know why Stats would stop recording new hits to my latest chapters? It just says 0's for chapter 8, and I know _somebody's _reading them...


	10. Four Times the Onceler Almost Stopped

**A/N:** SIXTEEN REVIEWS last chapter? Really? Wow. My mind = blown. Anyway, this is an older prompt... I'm not sure about how it turned out...

**Prompt from Anonymous:** Four times the Once-ler _almost_ stopped biggering

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><p><strong>Four Times the Once-ler Almost Stopped<strong>

**01. The First Choice**

Forty trees were chopped that first day, lifted up by those two idiots bumpkins and carried towards the Once-ler's house—like the point of entry of an infection, the trees closest to the RV were the first to go. The Lorax shouted, pulled and kicked at legs but what was he to do? The Once-ler's family didn't fear him—they didn't even respect him as a _being_.

He knew only one who _might_, and laid in the bushes till nightfall. Under the cover of night and starlight, that she-thing aunt of the Once-ler's couldn't spot him, and the Lorax slipped unnoticed into the Once-ler's tent.

The kid strummed his guitar, bits and pieces of truffula tufts clinging to his suit and hair, a few finished thneeds cast about the floor beneath him. He froze at the Lorax's appearance—perhaps in part to his unusually graceless fall from the window, fur matted with leaves—before remembering they weren't supposed to be speaking.

"What do you want?" he said, even as he strummed a more erratic tune. "If it's about the trees, there's nothing I can do. I own a _business_ now. Once it gets off the ground I can worry about the little things, but not—"

"This _is_ about the trees, and kid, you're going about this all wrong! What you're doing—it makes about as much sense as the farmer cutting down an orchid to get the apples! Those trees can spare a few tufts—but the bears can't spare their fruit and the swans need their roosts. You're not a bad kid. You can still take this back—"

The guitar squealed out a bad chord. The Once-ler looked down. "I just—"

The Once-ler thought of his family, _finally_ not hating him. He sighed.

"I just… _can't_."

**02. The Second Nudge**

The factory was celebrating its first one hundred thousand thneeds produced, a simple celebration consisting of a moment of fanfare and a commemorative plaque—not exactly dicey stuff, not really what caught the eyes of anyone.

All the same, the Once-ler couldn't keep the lazy grin off of his face, sinking into his plush new office chair, sighing and ready to get to work on paperwork. His gloved hand roamed about on the table behind him for his secret stash of marshmallow—closing around one, he popped it in his mouth and nearly choked.

Splitting it out, he found he wasn't looking at some form of gooey delight, but crushed, crunched, and wet styrofoam, little granules still clinging to his lips.

"Dis_gusting_," he said, and the Lorax popped into existence behind him.

"I agree. At least _you_ noticed though. Wonder what happens to animals so hungry they forget to chew, hmm?" the Lorax asked and the Once-ler faltered for a moment as he thought, before shaking his thoughts away like water from a duck.

"Just leave me _alone_, Lorax. Go bother somebody else with your antics. If it's 'your forest', then it shouldn't be _my_ problem."

"So it's everyone else's?"

**03. The Precipice**

"Hey… Mom? Does the forest look… _different_ to you these days?"

"Hmm? What do you mean, Oncie? Looks the same to me."

"It just looks… _different_ somehow. I could have sworn that there used to be more trees…"

"Don't be ridiculous, Oncie, there are plenty of trees. Our surveyors just discovered a whole new grove and are sending a team of ax-hackers that way. …Somethin' botherin' you, baby?"

"It's just… No. It's nothing, forget it."

"Get it off your chest, Oncie, you know it does nobody any good if you hold it in."

"Well, I was reading the total numbers report—"

"—you know I told you I'd read those, you shouldn't have troubled your pretty little head—"

"—and the numbers showed that there was only about a hundred thousand or so truffulas left."

"So? That's a hundred thousand thneeds waiting to be made."

"Yeah, but… What do we do after that?"

"Oncie, you've been talkin' to that Lorax-thing again haven't you, Lord have mercy, I swear, that creature's got it out for you. Hundred thousand's just a rough estimate, and they're discoverin' new truffula groves every day. Why, just last week we found twenty truffula forest groves along these hills to the south, just as green and growing as anything. If that Lorax of yours _really_ knew what was up, he'd be takin' his animals there. It's just a few miles south."

"Really?"

"Sweetie, there are people in this world who would swindle you outta our—_your_ hard-earned fortune in a heartbeat. That Lorax-thing? He's lookin' out for himself just as much as anyone else out there."

"Are you sure? That doesn't sound very like him…"

"Honey, who're you gonna believe? Some furry little I-don't-even-_know_-what that says it crawled out of a tree stump—or _family_?"

**04. Juncture**

It was the biggest celebration yet—the countdown to the production of the five millionth thneed. The Once-ler waited in one of the back rooms of the staging areas, idyly watching the numbers crank up while he smoothed a few strands of hair.

He was making his five millionth thneed today, and he needed to sell himself nearly as much as he needed to sell _it_. His reflection was as immaculate as ever. Suit pressed, hair soft and fluffy as the truffula tufts he remembered. So what if it'd been a while since he'd actually seen one? They were out there… _some_where.

As he was smoothing down the lapels of his coat, though, he noticed a smell, pungent and odorous, and felt his bile rise.

This time, the Lorax couldn't hide his arrival, cut so starkly by the scent that preceded him. His fur was smirched with a black tar, and that once-impressive mustache of his was limp and heavy with gunk. His eyes, the only part of him still even somewhat visible, were sad and hard and disappointed.

The Once-ler coughed at the acrid smell that seemed to fill the room; it burnt his tongue with its taste and he pitied the Lorax for being caught up in it.

"What did you _do_?" the Once-ler complained. "You smell like—ugh!"

"Your family," the Lorax said slowly, "decided I could use a dip in the river. You remember the river? All pretty and clean, where all of those humming fish used to swim? That place you now _dump your chemicals_?"

The Once-ler looked discomforted. "I—I'm _sorry_, okay, I—"

"I'm not here for that, kid. There's still time—you're about to go on air. Tell them you'll change your policies. You can still fix this, kid."

The Once-ler hesitated…

**05. What Might Have Been**

In one world, the Once-ler remembers a promise made by a riverside. He listens to the logic of a friend instead of a family's avarice, hires a few workers from the nearby town to pick trees and his company grows. He lives to a ripe old age, surrounded by the creatures of the forest and a Lorax that pops up from time to time, not because the trees need a voice—but because they _don't_.

In another, the Once-ler is left alone to sit and stare at a handful of trash, contemplating hunger and the innocence not to know what food really _is_ food. He pictures Pipsqueak, and images the bear cub out there in the smog and the highways that cut between tree stumps, ax-hackers zooming to match quota and poisoning the air. He creates new regulation for his company, the first do so, and has an edge on other companies when new laws follow. He has wasted no time, and people flock to his company—the only one still able to sale, the only one whose product does _everything_.

In one world, the Once-ler sees that taking and never giving eventually leads to nothing left to take. He creates sanctuaries out of the pocket groves, and plants their seeds where his ax-hackers have alread tred. The sky still fills with ash, and the Lorax never _fully_ manages to break through his mindset, but it is a start.

In another, the Once-ler hesitates, standing before the millions of viewers, the smell of schlop still clinging like a second skin. He opens his mouth, speaks, and hears his mother shriek from the sidelines when he vows to regulate production more strictly from then on. He sees the Lorax smile, still dripping glop from his whiskers.

What if this had been?

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><p>Review? Prompt me? Some of your other prompts are good, but get even better when I can merge a few of them together like that last one... :)<p> 


	11. Four Days of Rain Not Spent Alone

**A/N:** Fanfiction's decided it likes me again. At least it's giving me my emails. Yay. But, guys, if you leave me a question in a review, you might want to have Private Messaging enabled. I can't really get back to you otherwise, now can I?

**Prompt from Bane Reiko:** Rainy days

PLUS, there's a little Ted/Audrey moment for you Ted people. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Four Days of Rain Not Spent Alone<strong>

**01. The Once-ler and the Forest**

"You—aren't—coming—in—_here_," the Once-ler grunted, feet braced against the floor as the weight of the animals bore down upon his poor door. With an almighty shove, it clicked shut, and he heaved a sigh. "You're all wet!"

There was a knocking at his window, the Lorax standing on the other side of the glass, looking more like some technicolor, drowned rodent that the so-called "Speaker for the Trees". He was balancing on the top of a water barrel outside, the lid a perfect platform. He gave the Once-ler a _look_.

He laughed. "Nope. Nuh-uh, not happenin'. You are _not_ tracking mud into my house!"

Other animals joined the Lorax at the window. The barbaloots peered just over the windowsills, and the swans' long necks were craned to cock an eye his way. Even Melvin—_traitor_, who had his _own_ dang shelter, even!—was watching him with a (metaphorically) dry look. All around them outside, it was pouring.

"You gotta be kidding me! You're _forest animals_. Don't you have bushes or caves or whatever to hide in?"

Right then the Lorax reached down and plopped the heavy gun in front of him. Pipsqueak, all cute and adorable even in the best of times, looked doubly so just standing there. The Once-ler felt that resolve of his breaking—

—and then the cub waggled his tail and _waved_ at the Once-ler, every ounce of absolute adorableness.

_Awww…_

The Lorax stood at the door smugly when the Once-ler finally, resignedly opened it. The animals—_even Melvin_, and the Once-ler would remember this mutiny later—trooped in, dripping water and the Once-ler pouted, thinking about his poor floors. He upped the furnace, snatched his toothbrush away from the Lorax's paws and sighed.

His floor was _so_ ruined.

"I'll go get the towels…"

**02. Healing Rain**

"C'mon, Audrey, hurry up, we're gonna be late!" Ted called throughout the house. "The Once-ler's waiting for us—"

"Ted, you've gotta come see this!" Audrey's call came from the front door and Ted peered around curiously, standing in slack-jawed amazement at what he saw. Audrey held the door open, fingers at the door trim, one hand hanging in the air just centimeters from the water as it fell. Her eyes remained trained on the sky. "I think… I think it's _rain_…" she breathed.

Ted tilted his head. _Rain…?_ He inched closer to Audrey, staring up at the sky amazed. He didn't see any busted pipes, no giant buckets… Where was it all _coming_ from? He looked to ask Audrey—and paused at the look on her face. It was the seed all over again.

Looking at this 'rain', he sized it up, letting his hand drift out of the safety of the house's shelter. The first drop felt cold, like water from the tap, and gathered in droplets on his arm as more touched his palm. He felt some irrational sense of happiness fill him just by looking as it fell and made a split decision. He took Audrey's hand and pulled her out into the rain with him, laughing as they ran down the street.

From houses nearby, other residents ventured out, arms held open to catch the rain and fingers brushing the sky in awe. In all the months since the planting of the tree, and closings of the factories, no one had ever seen anything like _this_.

Audrey was laughing, spinning on the sidewalk as raindrops fell over her upturned face and closed eyelids. She seemed to feel his eyes on her, and looked back to him, smiling.

Just before pulling him forward for a kiss.

**03. Just a Little Encouragement**

The Once-ler marched home sulking, and Melvin was hardly in a better mood. Both were soaked to the bone, and the unsold thneed around his neck was beginning to feel like a noose with every soggy step.

Sighing, the Once-ler tugged at his collar a little, trying not to think of home. Lorax and those animals had probably already broken in and gotten everything wet in the first place…

He was contemplating the fate of his poor toothbrush when _bam!—_someone knocked him down into the mud.

The woman, at least, stopped this time.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?"

His shoes squelched as he stood up, and he was pretty sure his backside was stained the bright red of clay mud, but nodded anyway. His thneed—_stupid, stupid thing, why doesn't anyone need you?_—having somehow miraculously survived.

"Sure."

"I'm so sorry, I'm late you see—Oh! Aren't you that man on the town square selling—what are they again?"

"Thneeds."

"Right. Hey, where's your guitar?"

He winced, thinking of the poor thing in pieces back at home. _They hit me with it_. "They… didn't seem to like my music."

"Well, can't win everybody. Where's your umbrella? I saw you with one earlier…"

_Yup. Hit me with that too…_

"Oh. Lost it. Silly me."

She tilted her head a moment. The Once-ler wished she'd hurry up. He was only getting wetter in the rain…

She lifted her own hood over her head and handing her umbrella to him. "Don't worry," she said, "they'll get used to you eventually. I believe in you."

He'd never had anyone say that. "Really?"

"I wouldn't have said it otherwise," she called over her shoulder, "but now I really am late!"

He stood there dumbly for a moment.

"Hey! Wait! What's your name?"

"Norma."

**04. Longing for the Past**

The Once-ler watched the new forest from the house as the rain fell in gentle showers over the sprouts. At the first drop of rain, his heart had nearly stopped, fearing the worst in acid rain and pollution, in his mind's eye already seeing the new saplings shriveling and dying, the world forever condemned to its dead and lifeless state.

He had cried in joy when the forest had only grown after the first rain, the sprouts as vibrant and full of life as ever. Now, a few light showers later, he let himself settle into a chair by the window, shutters opened to let the fresher air drift inside.

He had nearly drifted off to sleep, lulled by the pitter-patter of the rain falling, when a mellifluous—and familiar—call woke him.

A swan had landed upon his windowsill, long neck drawn inside and looking about. She looked to him and honked again, shaking raindrops from her feathers. Her face was just a foot or so from his, head tilting this way and that, and the Once-ler froze. He had almost forgotten how beautiful these creatures were up close.

Unbidden, his hand moved from his lap to stroke those feathers as he had so long ago. The bird's head swung back around to the window and _honk'_d to some unseen force before flying inside. He watched, dumbfounded, as a half dozen more swans followed

They had never even landed on the ground before that day. They shook their feathers dry, settled into the room and the Once-ler made to leave. They wouldn't want _him_ around.

The moment his hand touched the stair rail, the first swan raised her head and honked. It wasn't until he took his seat that she tucked her head beneath her wing and drifted off.

**05. Empires Crashing Down**

Thunder shook the windows of the empty factory, the sole occupant sitting listless and uncaring at his desk. Acidic rain pelted the glass, only furthering the death and destruction of the lands outside.

_His fault. My fault. Your fault._

Everyone said something different. _Never your fault. Always your fault. Never listened. Always listened—little lap dog._

He hadn't heeded the Lorax's warnings. He had smogged up the sky with poisons and toxins and now every rainstorm was another chip at the base of the world. His factories had been shut down, but their effect never seemed to go away. Another clap of thunder and flash of lightning, another maelstrom as rain fell. He buried his head in his hands.

_All his fault_. He always listened—to the wrong person, always the good son to the wrong mother. _He_ killed the earth. He remembered the one time the Lorax had asked him the what should have been the simplest question in the world, just after the factory had opened and biggered and biggered.

_Are you happy now, kid?_

He hadn't had an answer then. He had stumbled with his words, saying nothing. He had one now.

He wasn't happy at all.

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><p>Hmm. Review? Prompts?<p> 


	12. Four Steps to Acceptance

**A/N:** So, somebody once asked for a story about the days immediately after everyone leaves. And then my English class starts asking for a paper on the steps of grief. Coincidence? Likely so, but hey-IDEA! I apologize for any misinterpretations.

**Prompt by NightmareBeforeChristmasFreak**

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><p><strong>Four Steps to Acceptance<strong>

**01. Denial**

He looks, but the Once-ler hasn't _seen_ for a long time. Why should today be any different? The animals leave, marching in a long line as they flee the destruction, his own feet rooted to the ground where now only grickal grass grows, the very land itself poisoned.

_They'll be back._

He picks up his hat, fallen to lay among the ash and dust, and plops it back on his head. It's dirty and smeared with gray streaks, but he hardly notices. He hasn't even noticed he's crying yet.

_They'll be back. They're coming right back._

He lets his feet wander into the factories, where equipment has been left abandoned right where it was. A chair lays fallen on the ground—the Once-ler straightens the factory floor with a _tsk_, imagining the gentle scolding his workers have in store for them when they return. Because they _are_ coming back.

Through the assembly line and further in, he lets his eyes see without truly seeing. He passes his family's section of the house. He can see every room left bare, every finery his mother had bought with _his _money stripped away. He trembles, standing there all alone.

Because _nobody's_ coming back.

**02. Anger**

His first rage breaks the giant window of his office floor, the sounding of shattering glass sounding like the pieces of his life finally collapsing in upon each other. In his second rage, he does something a little more reckless.

He climbs into an ax-hacker, eyes wild like a possessed man and yelling obscenities like a banshee when he steers his contraption straight into a factory wall. He backs up and readies it again, letting axes hack and swing and chop untilthe machine breaks uselessly down and he gets another. Tears are streaming down his face, red with the need for air, but he doesn't stop. He bears down upon his factory walls with everything he has, and when the squeal of metal chipping concrete ceases to comfort him, he turns his contraption upon the others, six axes working in tandem to destroy everything he's ever worked for.

It isn't until the very last machine breaks, collapsing on its that he stops, falling from the machine in an exhausted mess, the dust becoming mud as it sticks to his sweaty skin and his once-immaculate suit gathers tears.

He sits in the dust and lets frustration consume him. It's killing him.

**03. Bargaining**

"Lorax… _please_," he says one day, sitting at the highest point of his crumbling empire. The dead lands lay stretched out before him, but his eyes are locked on the sky.

He can see one bright hole in the smog and scum, and knows, the Lorax is _there_.

"Don't leave me like this… Come back. I can change all of this! I… I can feed the animals, they wouldn't even _need_ the trees if you brought them back… I'll make them pancakes. As much as they can eat. And I can clean the ponds. Maybe… Maybe dig new ones, so the fish can swim and hum.

"The swans can have my bowls. I don't really need them. They can lay their eggs there, and never have to search for truffula tufts to build a nest. I'd never complain, I swear.

"And the bears—they could live with me! And you, and mean, I'd never kick you out, I wouldn't, but please, please, please, _come back_. Don't leave me here alone…"

He closes his eyes and murmurs more words, pleas that fall on empty air.

He hopes to see the Lorax drifting down in soft light.

The sky closes up instead.

**04. Depression**

He pictures a dozen ways to die over the next few days. Of falling out of his office window to smack the dead earth below, or of winding up one of his rusting ax-hackers only to step in front of a swinging ax and let it cleave him into a dozen pieces.

Even they require too much effort collapses in his office chair and doesn't move for days, even as his clothes become even looser on his skinny frame and his muscles begin to tremble with exhaustion.

He pictures what his epitaph would read, should anyone care to write one. He's likely to die up here anyway—just a skeleton in a raggedly green suit, just another dead and forgotten piece of a dead and forgotten wasteland.

A layer of grime from the open window has build up over chair, the back extending far beyond his slouched head and neck. The Once-ler turns his body into it, grimly smearing one finger against the upholstry to write into the film that has begun to cover every surface exposed to the outside world. It says, for the world's curious eye to read:

_Here Lies the Once-ler. _

_Son. Brother. Fool._

_Finally Dead._

**05. Acceptance**

He's _nearly_ dead by the time he drags himself from his chair, limbs a shivering mess when he finally eats, just small quick bites, but it's something.

He's had a… _revelation_ of sorts, and he begins to dig through the drawers of his colossal desk, tossing files behind him in a frenzy. They aren't what matters. He pushes papers and pencils and forgotten snack wrappers, a new purpose filling him. He's had nothing but time to think, and with memories, comes the last few thoughts that propelled him forward.

He's nearly returned to despair when his fingers close around something small, hard, and thus far nearly forgotten about.

When he pulls his hand back, a truffula seed is nestled there in the palm. He remembers the Lorax coming to him, this same seed held up between a thumb and finger as he explained.

_Ten days to germinate. Ten years to grow._

The Once-ler had nodded absently at the time to indicate he had 'heard', pouring over more papers even while the Lorax spoke—when the Lorax left the seed to contemplate, had merely thrown it into the back of a drawer.

It's his fault everything's dead.

But he'll fix that.

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><p>I love you guys so freakin' much. Your prompts are always interesting, to say the least, and definitely a favorite part of my day :D<p> 


	13. Four Times 'Love' Failed

**A/N: **I really need to work on Dabbles in Drabbles again soon. After writing these, it's _harder_ to sum it up in 100 words :)

I have _no idea_ who to credit this one to. It sorta came from **Aya Toshu**, but that's mostly cause I'm an idiot and misread that prompt the first time, so...?

** May = my name for the Once-ler's mum. She needed one.

Remember: there's more than one type of love.

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><p><strong>Four Times 'Love' Failed<strong>

**01. Lover's Love**

"I'm pregnant."

The words hang in the air, unretractable and permanent. May tries to still her fear, standing in the doorway expectantly, hopefully, one arm wrapped protectively over her still-flat stomach. She's sixteen, young, and stupid, but this doesn't have to be the end. She—_they_—can beat the odds.

She's just full of enough foolish optimism to believe it herself.

The boy opposite the door's thresh hold just nods, folding his arms across his chest to lean against the doorway. "Oh, really? Whose is it?"

"What? What do you mean? It's yours, of course!"

The teen's shoulder twitches. He shrugs. "No, it's not."

"What—"

"As far as this town knows, we've never even been on a date. Now, please, May—you're drawing attention."

"West, don't do this—"

He shuts the door on her face. May stands there a moment, lost.

She's crying when she finally runs home.

**02. Mother's Love**

"Happy Mother's Day, Mama," a small voice says at her side, and May blinks open one eye in the early morning light. It's the thing again—that… kid. Her head swims for a moment, trying to remember which one it is. She can still feel that last bottle she had the night prior.

Her vision settles and she can see it's just one child she's looking at—odds say she's looking at _the_ one who started it all. _The_ Once-ler.

"What do you _want_?" She groans like a wounded animal, rolling away.

The child hesitates, then slides a piece of paper onto the corner of the mattress and runs away. It might be crying.

There's only a small flinch in that corner of her heart May hasn't yet killed, as she sits up and lets fingers curl around the paper.

It's a child's drawing, a duo of crudely-human shapes holding hands, the words "Haqqy mothers day" scribbled above the group. Perhaps a better mother would slip from bed and apologize. Perhaps a good mother would have set the paper aside.

May balls the page up and tosses it away.

She can't blink away eyes that look too much like West.

**03. Brother's Love**

The Once-ler isn't sure he's ever seen a mother _really_ do what he's doing now, but he almost thinks they should. He has his brothers by the hands, leading them from brushing their teeth to climbing into bed. He hears some of the kids at school complaining about sharing rooms, and he's never even heard of anyone there sharing one _bed_, but he can't understand why anyone _would_ complain. It's great.

He settles his brothers into bed, tucking their sheets around them before leaning in to kiss their foreheads. They're adorable little four-year-olds, and the Once-ler can't understand those brothers who complain about their siblings.

"Tuck, tuck, hug, hug, kiss, kiss, love ya, love ya," he says to each before climbing into his own side. There's no one there to tuck him in, but he works so hard on the farm that he hardly needs it. Listening to Chet and Brett doze off beside him is a perfect lullaby to the nine-year-old. What more does he need?

They outgrow him eventually though. He stands off to the sidelines as they grow—they aren't the ones the neighborhood kids don't want to play with. They fit into this world.

He doesn't.

**04. Friend's Love**

"—you're smogging up the skies and swans can't sing anymore, kid—"

"Oh, would you give it a _rest_, already?" the Once-ler says with a groan. He swings his feet down from the desk, standing to his full height. The kids in school may have teased him mercilessly for it, but it has its uses. "Every time I see you, it's always 'the trees this' and 'the trees that'! And now it's the _swans_? Things are finally going right in my life and you want me to stop because a few birds have _laryngitis_?"

The Lorax takes a step back and it's times like this that the difference of their height is apparent. The Once-ler, what with his hat and frustration, has never looked bigger. The Lorax, thin and fur scruffy from the smog of the skies, has never looked smaller in comparison. He's barely been a blip on the radar of the Once-ler's life.

"Is that all we were to you, kid? Just animals? I thought we were friends."

The Once-ler laughs. "You made it clear from the beginning we weren't. Besides—I have _millions_ of those now."

"Oh, yeah? How many'll be there when you fall, kid?"

**05. Eternal Love**

True friendships never die. The Once-ler knows it the moment the Lorax lands, every pain in his heart swelling at the sight—the pain of regret, the pains of a joy so great it threatens to burst his heart.

"Ya done good," the Lorax says.

The Once-ler's always wanted to hear that. Now it finally matters.

The Lorax is just as he was the very day they met, even though decades have made their mark on the Once-ler. He falls to his knees, wrapping the guardian into his arms, holding tightly.

The Lorax returns it with just as much strength.

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><p>Hey! Check out the poll on my profile and vote! It'll help me know who I need to practice writing for more ;) It'll also take a little while to affect this story but'll might help motivate me to <em>write<em> those characters, so...

But hey-review?


	14. Four Nightmares Dreamed

**A/N:** Okay, so, life is life and I haven't had time to write for a while. Not sure when that'll change. However, this sorta hit me, and I took some time out to type it up. No real prompt filled here, it just kinda hit me.

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><p><strong>Four Nightmares Dreamed<strong>

**01. Monsters in the Dark**

He was four when he had his first nightmare. Lying in bed, alone, with the sheets twisted around his ankles like snakes, monsters' fingers at his legs. He screamed, cried, and woke, alone, his shirt soaked in sweat and his face wet with tears.

There was no one to comfort him then, no parent to barge in and wrap gentle arms around his shoulders, to dab at his eyes and tell him, the monsters weren't there.

Aunt Grizelda had slept through every nightmare he ever had, and the Once-ler remembered the one time he had fled his bed, his raggedy toy bear clutched to his chest as he toed the thresh hold to his mother's bedroom. It had been instinct to guide him there in the night, and a more terrible instinct that held him.

He feared waking her, and didn't move.

Worse, he feared her rejection if he did.

**02. Gone, Not Forgotten**

Ted was four when the nightmares began, innocuous as they started. Little flashes of fear prior to waking, the panic and a frenzied thought of _Don't go, Daddy!_, hardly remembered in the morning. He remembered hands that would find him in the darkness, soft, slender hands that grabbed his shoulders and lifted him awake before the nightmares grew worse, and he would look at his mother's face and see her own tears.

He was too young to understand, but the knowledge of _gone_ was nothing new, and a mother's tears bring out those of a child.

As they held each other in the night, neither really knew who was comforting who, the mother or the child, but the togetherness was what was important. As his mother would smooth his sheets out and tuck him in, kissing his forehead good night, Ted knew: the nightmares wouldn't come again for that night.

**03. Dreams of Obscurity**

Alyosius O'Hare never once dreamed in technicolor—the world he grew up in never permitted it. The skies were gray at day, only darker at night, the grounds and forests of stumps barren and dead and lifeless.

Phantoms filled his nights—a plague of forgetfulness, of joining the dead beneath the dead ground as nothing, a nobody, just the trash collector on the streets, another young death of ruined lungs. He didn't expect to live past twenty-seven—so few of the trash collectors did, a combination of bad air and dangerous conditions, where signs oxidized and fell to pieces and rusting machinery broke down.

He lived his life at the bottom, and dreamt of the day his body joined the darkness of the earth, barely more than a name and a date to mark his passing.

_Here Lies O'Hare_.

Who would remember the trash collector ten years from now?

Nobody.

**04. Odd One Out**

She never quite_… fit_. Too tall, too bright, too strange. In a world of plastic, nobody cared for trees. Her classmates were always tapping away at their phones, or reading up on the latest gossip. No one understood the girl in the back, a paintbrush in her hand and a book of trees in her lap.

She laid in bed some nights, the darkness of the ceiling and the remoteness of her mind the only company in the depth of the night. Her blinds were angled, but no starlight ever made it though—blocked by the glowing tree lamp posts outside. She dreamt of never fitting in, of always being too odd. Some were nicer about it, but the fact never changed: she can't carry on their kinds of conversations, never put the right emphasis on her clothes, never messed with make up.

Sometimes, she fears she'll always be alone.

**05. Reality**

Some nightmares are simply a plague in the night.

The Once-ler gazes outside his window, no matter the time. His nightmare remains, will remain, has remained. A few million tree corpses, a barren land, a wasteland that the animals fled and the sun abandoned.

And it's all his fault, a fact that haunts him in the waking hours as well his sleep. He thinks of things he saw: of hungry animals he _now_ realizes were hungry. Of fish that couldn't hum, swans that couldn't sing.

He thinks of the things he _didn't_ see, but pictures all the same. Of animals dying, giant wheels crushing, the death of thousands of fish and birds and bears he never saw.

He closes his eyes, but what is the good? It lingers in his mind, toxic, like the land he polluted.

Some nightmares are just that: dreams.

His is reality just outside his door.

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><p>No idea when the next'll be up, but I felt so bad about just leaving you guys.<p>

So... Review? Take the poll? Leave a prompt? Hope you enjoyed?


	15. Two Plus Three

**Wow. Can I just say _wow_? My schedule has finally - _FINALLY_ - shifted back to something actually human.  
><strong>

**And dangit, _why_ is The Lorax going to take so long to come out on DVD?  
><strong>

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><p><strong>01. Alone<strong>

The Once-ler knew the feeling well. Alone. Lonely.

Mother let him be most of the time, sending him off with wave of her wrist, as much as a dismissal as he might expect.

His Aunt Grizelda called on him for chores.

Uncle Ubb never called.

The school kids called him spider-legs, scarecrow, _freak_.

Bret and Chet had each other.

But one was all he was. One. The Once-ler in name and in practice.

He learned to live. He had dreams, and the determination to reach them. He didn't need to rely on _people_.

One day, they'd rely on _him_ instead.

**02. Dreamer**

The Once-ler stretches out, back on the grass as the truffula trees stretch on overhead. He's a far cry from his days as a child, yet really, not so different.

He lets the sway of the trees, the soft scent of butterfly milk, lull him to a half-daze, sleep touching his eyelids as they world draws away.

_They'll love us_, a voice whispers in the haze. _They'll love us forever. We'll be needed. Never forgotten. We'll change the face of mankind. We can do this! We can!_

His voice? Maybe. He smiles in sleep and lets the dream lay claim.

**03. Greed**

"The _trees_, beanpole-!"

"Oh, shut it! Why must I let a few twigs stand in the way of Progress?" the Once-ler shouts.

It's funny how it doesn't sound like him at all. Hidden away within his mind, what is this thing that wears his face? The Lorax yells and spits and bites as security drags him away.

The Once-ler is left pondering, wondering, faintly, _briefly_, when his dreams stopped being about helping the world and started being about mountains of cash.

_We're just doing what comes naturally. We'll get bigger… and bigger… and bigger…_

The green haze grows stronger.

**04. Loathing**

_Look at what you've done!_

The thought burns like the acid rain that still falls from the skies, blackened, polluted. His lungs burn with every labored breath.

_Look upon your _glorious_ work, O Great Once-ler! Do you finally see what I see this time?_

He sees the face in every mirror. Features twisted, like a reflection in melted glass. Leering from every dark corner.

The mirrors are broken but the image remains.

_How many dead? How many dying? Is your money lust sated now, you beast?_

He's all alone, but he's always been that way. The voices never stop though.

**05. Alone Again**

The years pass. The voices grow hoarse.

The Dreamer is dead. The thoughts of _what-could've-been _have all but died, withered and anorexic from disuse. The faint gleam of hope - - a little seed, a tiny seed, but hope nonetheless - - teases it.

The Greed is gone. That voice died the swiftest, brought to a crumbling death when nothing more could sustain it. The Once-ler weeds it from his mind with every passing thought it makes, dreaming of profits from the last seed. He cannot give into temptation.

The Loathing remains, the sole friend and occupant. Some days it renames itself Anger, and he rages at everything and nothing, but mostly just at himself. Eventually, though, even Loathing, old friend, is too difficult to maintain.

And he's alone again.

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><p>That felt a little sub-par, but I'm a little rusty. Why is all of my stuff so dang sad?<p>

Seriously, let's see if I'm even _capable_ of filling something happy anymore. Any happy prompts, guys?

...I hope I didn't lose too many of you guys...


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